


One-Sided Kiss

by ninemoons42



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Gen, Kissing, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42





	One-Sided Kiss

  
title: One-Sided Kiss  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
word count: 627  
fandom/pairing: McFassy  
rating: G  
notes: A little AU fic I wrote to answer a challenge on Tumblr. [Gokuma](http://gokuma.tumblr.com/post/10004460432)'s prompt was "Michael Fassbender kisses the petrified Mr. Tumnus." This is the result. Cleaned up and edited from my original response [here](http://tumblr.com/x9j4lh1nwg).

  
Of all the things Michael had never expected to see in the statue garden – not that he went to statue gardens as a rule; he’d never even been in one before this particular photoshoot – it was the statue of a friendly-looking faun, complete in every detail down to the little horns and the cloven feet. Its face was frozen in a friendly smile, and it seemed to be gazing just across the way at the statue of the mother and her child.

For some reason Michael thought those eyes looked both warm and lonely at the same time, noting even the little crows’-feet in the corners of those carved and chiseled eyes, and then he chided himself – the faun was made out of _marble_ , what was wrong with him, marble was what you carved immortality out of, according to the old romances, and yet it was also always fucking _cold_.

Michael let the photographer put him through his paces; silently blessed him for letting him have a smoke and a drink while posing. Time passed quickly and he supposed that he had, in his own way, enjoyed the relatively painless character of the thing. And when the photographer started packing up his lights and reflectors Michael excused himself quietly and retraced the path back to the statues.

He looked at them again, a little more interested this time, and he spent a long time with his hand on the head of the child in its mother’s arms, thinking of other times, of his parents and other people showing him affection.

He walked around to all the statues in the little garden, little taking note of the passing of the minutes, and in the end he came to the last of them: the little smiling faun. Now Michael sat down before it, stretching his long legs out in the grass, and looking up at the little smile carved on its face.

While he’d been posing, someone had obviously walked past the faun and given it a present – a long red scarf, and Michael grinned now, thinking about the one time he’d sat down and devoured _The Chronicles of Narnia_ , all of the books in one go, when he was at school.

As the dipped further and further behind the darkening trees, as the day slid softly towards dusk, Michael became aware of the buzzing in his pocket: his mobile phone, and messages from his agent, telling him to come back to the hotel for dinner.

He wondered why he felt reluctant to leave the garden and its little flock of statuary. It wasn’t as if he had every right to be bored, nothing to do here but look at the faun, smoking his way through the handful of cigarettes he’d had left in his pockets from the shoot. There wasn’t even anything to drink left. If he wanted another beer, or something stronger, he’d have to move.

In the end Michael got up when it got too dark to see – there were few lights in the statue garden – and he gave in to the ridiculous impulse that had been niggling at him all along.

He leaned in and kissed the statue of the faun. That snug tell-tale little spot between its cheek and its mouth. Not a kiss for a friend, but not a kiss for a lover. A kiss that could say so much and yet say so little at the same time.

A few moments longer, and then he put his hand atop the faun’s head, whispered goodbye, and left.

///

When Michael encountered James McAvoy again, he almost told him the story about the faun and its red scarf and the kiss – but he held his peace, and contented himself with a secretive little smile.  



End file.
